D. S. al Coda
by Petrel
Summary: A miracle of twisted science joins Daria with another resident of Lawndale. Can this abomination survive the ordeal that awaits her?


"D. S. al Coda", by Petrel.  
  
Summary : A miracle of twisted science joins Daria with  
another resident of Lawndale. Can this abomination survive  
the ordeal that awaits her?  
  
All : The Usual Disclaimer. MTV/Viacom has lots and lots of  
money. I have enough cash to buy a bag of cashews. A pepperoni  
pizza for your lawyers would cost more than you'd get back from  
a lawsuit. Besides, I like MTV's "Daria" and would do nothing to  
hurt it, so *there*.  
  
All, Part II : This is filed under "horror", because I didn't know  
where else to put it. Really, only the setup is "horror"...but  
to live like this...brrr.  
  
Many thanks for medea42 for agreeing to betaread this. Her suggestions  
have been incorporated into the v 2.0 product. I give her credit for  
any good reviews, and take full blame for any bad ones.  
  
*********  
  
This is a computer file of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  
Class AAA (YEO)  
To : Director, FBI  
  
*********  
  
The agent laughed. With one memo, he would reach the pinnacle  
of a seven-year career in The Agency. It was the first time he  
had ever written a memo to the Director himself, the man who sat  
in Hoover's chair, much less a YEO -- a Your Eyes Only class file.  
He had written Secret and Top Secret, and had even seen a  
Destroy/Delete After Acknowledging, but never, never a YEO.  
  
This case deserved it. There were now *three* missing students  
at Lawndale High, and the FBI was very interested in Charles  
Dwayne Ruttheimer III. Descriptions of him ranged from "irritating"  
to "creep", and the kid certainly didn't *look* like a master criminal  
or deranged loner, much less a....  
  
*Genius*. The lab had been stripped from top to bottom. All kinds  
of interesting and potentially lethal equipment had been found, which  
would be catalogued with much care. As for the kid's intelligence,  
it was off the charts. He could probably build a jet  
airplane with a spoon and a box of Tic-Tacs. Funny, the agent thought  
as he poured some soda, he had heard of criminal geniuses but this  
case made him definitely uneasy.  
  
The disappearance of two Lawndale students -- Daria Morgendorffer  
and Sandra Griffin -- had led the FBI to a third. Charles "Upchuck"  
Ruttheimer had been described as a letch, perpetually girl-crazy,  
and the agent suspected the worst as he searched the lab. The girls   
were probably dead, and their final moments wouldn't have   
been pleasant. Ruttheimer had probably kidnapped the girls,   
played unspeakable games with them, and killed them.   
Frankly, the agent didn't expect the bodies to be in one piece. And,   
if "Upchuck" was on the loose, he would strike again. That kind of   
evil never stopped until it was killed or caught.  
  
Well, he found that they were alive. But only in a matter of  
speaking. What he found was unspeakable. The Ruttheimer kid  
was indeed, a genius, beyond Hippocrates, Galen, Pasteur, Watson,  
Crick, anybody. A twisted genius. The girls were alive -- but   
they might has well be dead. There was no scientific reason that  
they should be alive, except for "Upchuck's" genius.  
  
Undoubtedly, though, their life couldn't be worth living. He would  
tell the Director that in the memo.  
  
**********  
  
Jake paced back and forth, while Tom Griffin calmly sat in his chair  
and expected the worst. Sam and Chris Griffin were at home with  
a babysitter. Helen Morgendorffer and Linda Griffin had a pleasantly  
phony conversation, forced to put aside long-standing differences  
for the sake of their daughters.  
  
As for Quinn...she waited, the most anxious of them all. Three  
weeks earlier, Quinn's sister, Daria had gone missing, along with  
Quinn's best friend, Sandi Griffin. There was all kinds of speculation,   
from a lesbian love affair (HA!) to a serial killer   
at large (Lawndale's female population had been distinctly uneasy).  
  
Now, both families had been called to Lawndale hospital. Quinn  
wanted to call Stacy, but the line was busy. As for Jane, Helen  
was in too much of a hurry to get to the hospital. Quinn suspected  
that Jane would be quite unhappy, not being there to hear the news  
herself. Jane had taken the disappearance particularly hard, as   
had Quinn. They hadn't talked much, but Quinn and Jane had found   
new common ground with their concern for Daria, and had put   
everything aside in their hope that Daria would return to them.  
  
The doors opened. A doctor entered the room, wearing the  
traditional long white lab coat. Behind her walked an agent of the  
government, in traditional bureaucratic rumpled gray.  
  
Jake almost lept to the roof. "My daughter! Is my daughter alive?  
Can I see her?"  
  
Linda broke off her conversation and ran forward. "Sandi! Where's  
Sandi? I want to see her, *now*!"  
  
The man raised his hands. "In good time. We have some news to   
deliver to you about their conditions. You need to sit down."  
  
"Is it bad news?" Quinn had to make her voice heard.  
  
"Please," said the doctor, "sit down. Everyone."  
  
Each of the families sat in their own groups, husbands, wives,  
siblings holding tightly clenched hands.  
  
"Your daughters...." Sarah Samuels, MD stopped. Better to clear   
the table all at once. "The young man who kidnapped your daughters   
was, apparently, a genius. A twisted genius. He performed   
an...an experimental *surgery* on them...."  
  
" -- Oh, GOD!! -- ", interjected Linda, as Helen began crying.  
  
"What has happened?", said Tom Griffin, calmly.   
  
"This is a kind of surgery that is -- off the level of anything  
medical science can do. By all means, it should be impossible,  
on multiple levels. However, Daria and Sandi remain alive.  
But...they've been joined together. Permanently."  
  
There was silence. Jake's weak, tremulous voice stated the unstatable.  
"...like...Siamese twins...?"  
  
"No," said Samuels. "You'd best see for yourself."  
  
*****************  
  
The seven of them walked to the adjoining room. It was only one  
hundred feet away, yet the group moved at the pace of a funeral  
procession. The double doors, a psychological barrier more than  
a physical one, swung open.  
  
Resting on the bed was Daria. Helen could see her by profile,  
as the group approached the bed from the right side. "Daria!",  
shouted Helen, joyful enough to kiss the floor.  
  
"Sandi?", asked Linda Griffin in confusion. "Sandi? Where *are*  
you?"  
  
Daria's head suddenly turned.  
  
But it was not Daria's head. It was Sandi's head. Or perhaps,  
Daria and Sandi's head. The right half of the head was definitely  
Daria Morgendorffer, but the left half of the head was unmistakably  
that of Sandra Griffin.   
  
"Mom?", asked the creature in a voice not quite Daria's and not  
quite Sandi's.  
  
With that, Linda Griffin's eyes rolled to the back of her head and  
she fell backwards in a heap of flesh. The nurses ran about,  
trying to revive Linda with ammonia. Helen shivered  
as Jake and Tom stood there like statues.  
  
Quinn looked at the face. It was the face of her sister and her  
best friend, surgically joined together with an almost unnoticable  
pink line separating the two. She tried to find some recognition  
in her sister's/best friend's eyes.  
  
Instead, Quinn's view was blocked by a burly orderly attempting  
to pick up Linda Griffin and move her to a gurney. Half-drugged  
and bemused, the one in the hospital bed wondered what all the fuss  
was about and craned her neck to get a closer look.  
  
**********  
  
"Let me go! Dammit!", shouted Jane Lane, "Police brutality!!  
POLICE BRUTALITY!!"  
  
The FBI agent wasn't taking any chances. He had the little wildcat's  
left arm firmly twisted behind her back, and was going to march  
her inch by inch away from Lawndale Hospital. If he had to throw  
her down the stone steps, so be it. She had almost put his eyes out,  
the little bitch.  
  
Quinn walked up to the hospital steps, just in time to see the  
sight. "Jane!"  
  
"Quinn?", said Jane, the fight leaving her. With that, the FBI  
man firmly pushed Lane away.  
  
"Like, how did *you* know where Daria was?"  
  
"Nice of you, Quinn, for deciding *not* to tell me," growled Jane.  
"You've already told Stacy Rowe. Who's next on your list?  
Kevin? I oughta paint your eyelids shut."  
  
"Just answer the question," said Quinn.  
  
"Fine." Jane pulled out a walkie-talkie like device. "The penalty  
for using a cell phone without proper encryption. Those portable  
phones in your house sure aren't great for keeping secrets. I   
probably know enough to bring down your mom's law firm, so there's  
no point in hiding anything else."  
  
"And how much do you know?"  
  
"Everything," said Jane. "Unfortunately. No wonder the FBI is  
here. If this got out -- "  
  
Quinn sighed. "All right. Do you want in or not?"  
  
Jane looked at Quinn. "You can get me in?"  
  
"I...didn't know how to break it to you. I didn't think you'd take  
it very well. Stacy...well, she doesn't know Daria that well and  
doesn't like Sandi that much. But...well, dammit, you're not the  
easiest person to talk to!"  
  
Jane smiled. "Try getting me drunk sometime. I get very gullible,  
then. All right, Quinn. All is forgiven. Just show me Daria!"  
  
********************  
  
As the two took the elevator, Quinn filled Jane in on "the patient's"  
condition. Yes, Daria/Sandi was alright. She was standing, walking,  
taking fluids, eating, going to the john. Yes, physically she  
*was* one half of Daria Morgendorffer (right side) and Sandi Griffin  
(left side). Yes, they were of the same height and body type for  
some reason...Upchuck had apparently made some cosmetic changes.  
  
Breast augmentation surgery for the Daria side, to avoid a   
lop-sided appearance. The Sandi side was a little chubbier and a   
little shorter in the trunk and legs. No, the faces did not   
line up perfectly. Sandi's left eye was slightly smaller than   
Daria's right, and her lips were marginally bigger. Furthermore,  
Daria's right eye had impaired vision, whereas Sandi's left eye  
saw perfectly. Without glasses, the...'patient' sometime squinted  
with her right eye to allow the left to provide unassisted sight.  
  
Upchuck had worked everything out on his own. You would think they  
were one person if you covered up everything below the neck. Above  
the neck was another matter.  
  
"So...what do I say? 'Hi, Daria'? 'Hi, Sandi'? 'Hi, whoever you  
are?'", asked Jane.  
  
"The doctors say that she hasn't given herself a name yet. I see  
her a lot. I was the only one who was close to both of them."  
  
"Riiiight," said Jane, "but Daria always told me how much you   
irritated her."  
  
"I don't know. I think there's a part of Daria in there that  
*likes* to see me unconfortable."  
  
"Or," said Jane, "a part of Sandi." Quinn was silent. The thought  
hadn't occured to her.  
  
The nameplate to the double room had the names of "both" patients.  
  
DARIA MORGENDORFFER  
SANDI GRIFFIN  
  
Jane thought it was a bit weird, but true. Quinn looked to the  
agent guarding the door. The agent, nodding to Quinn, allowed the   
two in. "He's cute", whispered Quinn under her breath.  
  
"Oh. You noticed," answered Jane. Now, she would see for herself.  
  
Immediately, Jane's stomach turned. It took all she could do not  
to look away, and this from a person who prided herself on her  
uniquely twisted artistic vision. It wasn't that Daria/Sandi was  
*ugly*, just that she was...odd. Too odd. Both halves just didn't  
add up, somehow. Conflicting associations fought it out in Jane's  
heart. She could only feel for *Daria*, and wondered if Daria,  
any part of Daria, was still alive.  
  
"Hi, Quinn," the patient said in a bizarre amalgam voice. "And...",  
Daria's eye squinted, "Jane? Jane Lane?"  
  
"DARIA!!" Jane lept for joy and rushed to embrace the patient.  
  
Instead, Jane met the patient's forceful and outstretched arms,   
pushing Jane backwards. "UGGGGGGHHHH!!!," shouted the patient,  
"Get away from me, you *WEIRDO*!!!"  
  
Jane didn't know what to say. Her eyes started to water, slightly,  
as she stood back, looking at the person who was once Daria  
Morgendorffer and might still be if not blocked by Sandi Griffin,  
president of the Fashion Club.  
  
Quinn wondered if Jane were ready for this. "Jane...maybe you should  
just...uh...sit over there." Weakly, Jane obeyed Quinn for perhaps  
the only time in her life. Quinn was having to be the strong  
one in her own family, and command was coming easier to her. She had   
always dreamed of giving the orders, but never under these conditions.  
  
"Well...", said the patient. "It's the thought that counts. Hi,  
Jane."  
  
"Hi...Daria? *Are* you Daria?"  
  
"I'm -- ", said the patient, before her mouth hung open in a locked  
position. She started to half-moan and half-gargle.  
  
"I didn't warn you!", said Quinn, defensively. "DON'T ask her that  
again! That always happens!"  
  
"Sorry," said Jane, sounding too much like Stacy for Quinn's comfort.  
This was a bad idea. Jane was *not* ready.  
  
"Doctor Samuels says that she has to find a name for herself.  
She believes that....somehow, their, like, personalities and memories  
are all mixed together. Sometimes, one takes control of the  
body and sometimes another. Sometimes, they fight for it, and  
sometimes, they do things no one ever expected. The, uh, patient  
told me that it took her a week to learn how to walk in Upchuck's  
lab, to even agree to how to move the body." Quinn hated to  
fill the conversation with such exposition, but she hated silence.  
There had been too much silence in her own family already.  
  
Talking to this new person wasn't easy. This person, not exactly  
her sister and not exactly her best friend, wanted to know about  
a wide range of subjects : the Morgendorffers, the Griffins,  
the Fashion Club, Jodie, Mack, Tiffany, Stacy, fashion and the  
sick sad world. At times, she would crack jokes about her  
"upcoming schizophrenia", and other times she would cry,  
uncontrollably.  
  
Jane found it in herself to speak. "What are those things on the  
bed?" There were canvas straps with padded cuffs.  
  
"Those?", said the patient. "Restraints. For at night, when  
I'm asleep. Sometimes I try to scratch my own face off. At  
least at the Morgendorffer's, I'd have a padded room. It's just  
that half of this face is so ugly."  
  
Quinn nodded. It was best to nod, and not try to argue. The  
patient could be incredibly strong willed.  
  
"No. Change that. *All* of it is ugly. It's a good thing I don't  
have a mirror...or other sharp objects. Although I could use some  
eyeliner right now." With that, the patient almost cackled.  
Jane looked on, glass-eyed.  
  
Doctor Samuels entered the room. "How's my lovely lady?"  
  
"In Hell," said the patient.  
  
"Okay." It was the answer the patient always gave. "You're about  
as sane as anyone in this situation might be, so I'll take that  
as a positive answer. I wonder...what part of you is Sandi  
Griffin? Because that's the part I need to talk to."  
  
"Well," said the patient, "you realize it's going to be very hard  
for me to leave the room."  
  
"Was that Daria speaking? Or a part of Daria?", said Samuels.  
  
"There is no Daria," said the patient, before shouting out, "AND NO  
SANDI!!"  
  
"Then who are you?"  
  
"We haven't decided yet." Samuels nodded. It was the first time  
the patient had ever used "we" before.  
  
"If I speak, will Sandi hear me?"  
  
The patient looked puzzled. "Yes. Yes, she will hear you. I'm  
listening."  
  
"Quinn," said Doctor Samuels, acknowledging her as a matter of   
courtesy. "And you are -- ?"  
  
"Jane. Jane Lane. I was Daria's best friend," she said, a tear  
beginning to form and fall down her left cheek.  
  
"Pardon me, lovely lady. I need to talk to Jane." The patient looked  
concerned as Samuels led Jane out of the room. Quinn did not follow.  
  
**********  
  
I don't get it. Why did the doctor want to talk to *you*?  
  
[Don't ask me. Like, how am I supposed to know? I suppose it's  
something about school, or something.]  
  
Right. Doctor Samuels wanted everyone out of the room  
just to bring you up to date on the Northwest Passage. The fact  
that we've become a freak of nature doesn't enter into it.  
  
[I am NOT the freak! Look in the mirror, Morgendorffer, and I'll  
tell you who the freak is! I know more about you that you'd ever  
care to give up! I could make Quinn's life a living hell!]  
  
And I could do the same to you! You might be able to catch my  
hidden thoughts every once in a while and steal them, but I   
can fish in that aquarium *you* call a brain. For one thing,  
I found out that you thought boron was a fabric on last month's  
chemistry quiz. And I know that you gave Kevin Thompson a  
bl --   
  
[ -- Don't even SAY it! I'm not kidding. There *will* be a fight,  
and I'll throw you out of the room! ]  
  
How? I've tried that already, and so have you. If either one of  
us could take control, we would. But I think that each of us is  
too headstrong to give anything up.  
  
[Exactly. As soon as I get out of this, like, nuthouse, I'm reclaiming   
my life, Morgendorffer. ALL of it.]  
  
Sure. Ever read 'No Exit'?  
  
[Oh...I see. I caught *that* thought. Trapped in a room with people   
I can't stand, for eternity. Well, I suppose that it *is*, like, appropriate.]  
  
And by the way...the next time you *ever* treat Jane Lane like that,  
I'm going to take my half of the body and shave our head.  
  
[You WOULDN'T!! You...would. God damn you, you fucking BITCH!]  
  
God did damn me. And he damned you, too. You're just too stupid  
to recognize it.  
  
[At least we know what we think of the other. We don't have to  
pretend to be nice, anymore.]  
  
....  
  
When were you *ever* nice?  
  
*****************  
  
"Jane?", said Quinn, tenatively.  
  
Jane looked up. Her eyes were very red. "Hi, Quinn. I guess  
nothing worse could happen to ol' Jane Lane, huh?"  
  
"Jane...I'm...*sorry*. I mean -- "  
  
Jane looked at Quinn, almost demandingly, and a bit angry. Obviously,  
Jane didn't care showing her vulnerable side to the Creature from  
Junior Five.   
  
" -- I should know when to shut up," said Quinn. "I mean, *I'm*   
Sandi's best friend, and you're Daria's! So...why aren't *we*   
friends? I don't get it."  
  
"Heh. Well, I think part of the answer is in the fact that *you*  
don't get it."  
  
"Jane," said Quinn, deciding a new tactic. "I don't know how much  
I can deal with this anymore. It's like, so...weird. I need your  
*help*."  
  
Jane thought about it. "Okay. I can put up with 'Sandi', if there's  
a Sandi in there. You know, Quinn...I always thought I was thick  
skinned enough to put up with any of life's bullshit. But I don't  
think that's true anymore. This...is beyond me. At least, I   
*know* it's beyond me."  
  
"That's what Doctor Samuels told you, huh?"  
  
Jane perked up. "You too, huh?"  
  
"Yeah," smiled Quinn, "me too."  
  
"Well, then, since this is the beginning of the new Lane-Morgendorffer  
partnership, what's our next move?"  
  
"Aside from getting you a better wardrobe? I don't know."  
  
Jane noticed Doctor Samuels arriving. "Hi, Doc. What bad news  
have you come to deliver this time?"  
  
"Ms. Lane, you'd have a wonderful future in psychiatry."  
  
"No thanks. I prefer to maintain my amateur status. What's up?"  
  
Samuels sighed. "I had to deliver some bad news to Sandi. Her family  
is breaking up under the strain. Linda Griffin refuses to accept  
Sandi back home."  
  
"What a bitch," said Jane. The two others turned towards Jane. "Sorry,"   
said Jane, making a peace offering.  
  
"Well, like I said, you'd have a *wonderful* future -- anyway, I don't think  
Mr. Griffin can handle this and I *know* Mrs. Griffin can't. Wherever our  
lovely lady goes, it won't be to the Griffins."  
  
"'Lovely lady'. Why do you call her that? It's kind of condescending, you   
know," said Jane.  
  
"Works a lot better than, 'hey you'. She has to decide who she is going   
to be. Once she decides...I feel safe enough to let her go. Mrs.   
Morgendorffer is threatening a lawsuit. I don't know if you can sue the FBI, but  
I suspect that Helen has taken my words to heart about not exposing her daughter   
to the harsh glare of publicity. She'll be allowed to leave, quietly, once she proves  
that she can adjust to day to day life."  
  
"She's coming home...," muttered Quinn.  
  
"And if she does?", asked Doctor Samuels, "if she does, will you be able to  
handle the strain of helping her adjust?"  
  
"I'll try," said Quinn.  
  
"She'll have help," said Jane, firmly.  
  
"Good. I have to see how our lovely lady is. She wanted to be alone. I don't  
worry about her hurting herself in her waking state, but she didn't take the  
news very well."  
  
As Dr. Samuels walked away, the others followed. The lovely lady in question  
sat in a chair, still in her hospital gown, her eyes red.  
  
"Sandi...how are you taking it? Do you want to talk some more?"  
  
The patient looked up. "No...no, this is...not a surprise. I guess that  
we expected it. We just want to go home. Somewhere."  
  
"Well, you can always shack up at my place," said Lane, "as long as Fashion  
Club meetings are kept to a minimum."  
  
The patient glared at Lane. Then, slowly, her face softened. "Thanks," she  
mumbled.  
  
"When can I leave?", said the patient.  
  
"Who are you?", asked Doctor Samuels.  
  
"I'm...I'm...I'm **SANDI***!!" Jane's heart almost stopped beating. So did  
Quinn's.  
  
"Sandi MORGENDORFFER," that is. With that, Sandi M. gave an ironic smile  
more closely associated with Daria. "And Lane, if I ever make it back  
home, you'd better bring the restraints. This is going to be a bumpy ride!"  
  
*******************  
*******************  
  
It was time to fight sleep, thought Daria. Fight it. Fight it with all  
your might. Sit down, stand up, fight fight fight. It was hard enough  
fighting the annoying radio station that played in her head, All Sandi,  
All Her Best Hits, All Day Long. Fighting fatigue and The Voice of  
Ignorance was too hard.  
  
I'm not asleep. I'm not asleep.  
  
Silence. [Oh hell...I'm asleep.]  
  
She was going to go back *there* again. Don't open your eyes. Don't look  
at him. Don't look at him, whatever you do.  
  
Something touched her cheek.  
  
Daria's heart pounded a little heavier and a little faster. Perhaps she was  
naked. Her eyes opened. Was it a dream?  
  
It was a nightmare. It was Upchuck.   
  
"Rrrrrrrr. *Feisty.*"  
  
Daria tried to scream, but her lips had become modeling clay. She seemed   
heavily sedated. Sleep? She could wake up. It was a dream, and she knew  
it was a dream, but she COULD NOT WAKE UP.  
  
"...upchuck?....", she mumbled, tenatively.  
  
"Pleeease. Call me Charles, Buttercup. And not a stitch on! But we have no  
secrets to hide any longer, my dear."  
  
"...what...do you want...?"  
  
"I'm taking our relationship to a whole new level," he smiled, an explosion  
of teeth and freckles.  
  
It was then that Daria heard the mutterings of Sandi Griffin. "...daddy?...,"   
she asked, in a drowsy, childish voice.  
  
"They all call me 'Big Poppa', sooner or later," said Ruttheimer.  
  
"...what's *she* doing here?", asked Daria. Daria could only remember   
coming out of the bathroom, in the middle of the night. Then the chloroform.   
Upchuck had broken into herhouse, and she put a pitifully girlish struggle,  
like the anonymous victim of a slasher movie. It was most unbecoming.  
  
"...well, Daria, I decided that 'Three's Company'! Call me Jack Tripper.  
You're Janet, and delicious Sandi is Chrissy! I had the idea after watching  
an episode. I took the theme music to heart, my precious."  
  
"...music...?"  
  
"Come and knock on our dooooor...we've been waiting for yoooooooooU", sang  
Upchuck, gloriously offkey. "So I decided to knock on your door! I knew  
you wouldn't mind me coming over for a visit. I'd never even been *invited*  
before!"  
  
"...don't....", said Daria, not sure of what she was 'don't'ing.  
  
"Daria," said Upchuck in faux sadness. "You see, that's your problem, my  
dear. Consistent negativity will not get you onward and upward in this  
world." Now, she could see Upchuck's face. He was wearing a hospital  
gown and a plastic plexiglass mask to shield himself.  
  
"You see," continued Upchuck, "I've decided that there are parts of you  
I don't like."  
  
With that, he raised the rotary handsaw he kept in his left hand. The serrated  
edge turned into a whirly-blur of pain.  
  
awakeawakeawakeawake, Daria told herself. *awake before you can feel him  
cut!!*  
  
Upchuck went to work and --  
  
*******************  
*******************  
  
Conscious. Conscious again. Daria yanked the right restraint in her hand.  
It remained securely tied to the bedpost.  
  
[Oh....no!! OH GOD! OH GOD, I'm *SORRY*, OH GODDDDDD!!!!!]  
  
Sandi was awake now. What had happened?  
  
Oh...*no*!! Oh, please, *not again*!!  
  
The panic had gotten the best of Sandi. She never took it well. Daria could  
smell the pungent wetness of the bed and screamed. Sandi screamed.  
Together, their screams echoed through the emptied psychiatric wing.  
  
Meanwhile the agent at the door completed his crossword puzzle. He wondered  
if she'd ever get better. Time to call the nurse for a sedative, either for  
her or for himself. It was a mistake releasing them. He supposed Helen  
Morgendorffer would get used to the screaming.  
  
*******************  
  
"I can't believe it!", shouted Quinn. "We're finally getting rid of the  
dungeon!!"  
  
Helen watched as the contractors began to destroy the room formerly known  
as Daria's and soon to be known as Sandi's. She looked at this creature  
who had only one-half the face of the baby girl she gave birth to so long  
ago. Part of that face belonged to Linda Griffin's child. Helen had decided,  
from the first day, that come hell or high water, she would love both of them.  
  
"Sandi?", said Helen, unhappy with the new choice of name. "Sandi, are you  
all right?"  
  
"Well," said Sandi, "you could say I have 'mixed feelings' about it."  
  
Helen frowned.  
  
"That was a joke."  
  
"Oh! Hehheh! Uh...well, Sandi, you'll be rooming with Quinn, now. It will  
be about three months until the work is done and the room is rebuilt to your  
liking!"  
  
"What about my schoolwork?"  
  
"Darling...I...*Sandi*, I don't think you should go to school right now."  
  
"Why not? Do you think I'm...some sort of *freak*?"  
  
"No, dear!" Helen reached out to embrace Sandi, but she pulled back.   
It was an act that wounded Helen to the quick, but she had put up a brave  
face before and would do so again. "Well, I know that the part of you that  
is Daria would behave the same way!"  
  
"Uh...yeah. That's true. I apologize for the lack of contact, Mrs...uh...  
'Mom'."  
  
"Sandi...I don't know if you will ever be happy again, but I'll do my best  
to try."  
  
Sandi was taken aback. "Uh...thank you."  
  
"Now, Quinn can tell you anything you need to know about the house."  
  
"Uh...'Mom'...I know most of it already. After all, this was Daria's house for  
a long time. And Sandi...the other Sandi...came to visit. I would appreciate  
if if you got rid of the lasagna, though. We have to lose some weight and  
we *definitely* have to update our wardrobe! I have to be ready for the   
public...even if it's not ready for me!"  
  
"Well, then, I'll go tell Jake. I'll see you in a little while, dearest!   
Quinn, take care of your sister!" With that, Helen went down the stairs.  
  
Sandi watched her leave. "She really is a nice woman."  
  
"*DARIA*!! Uh...that is, *Sandi*! I mean...really...she's our MOM!"  
  
"Sorry. This adjustment is a hard thing. Just remember, Quinn...anything that  
comes out of my mouth might be pure insanity. You're not allowed to hold it  
against me."  
  
"Deal."  
  
"I'm sure I can find something nice of yours to wear. I'm *not* wearing that  
skirt and jacket! Just...don't get any funny ideas in your head."  
  
********************  
  
Sandi (would she ever learn to call her by that name?, Quinn asked herself)  
found one of Quinn's old sweatshirts, gray and somewhat dingy-looking.  
A skort and some flip-flops completed the ensemble. If the other Sandi  
could have seen what her new self was wearing, said Quinn, she would have  
died of apoplexy. (Reminder to self, said Quinn, change vocabulary-builder  
for the day.) But she did have a fashion-sense, if somewhat impaired.  
  
"Okay, 'sis'," said Sandi. "Who knows?"  
  
"Obviously, all of the Griffins and Morgendorffers. Who Mr. and Mrs. Griffin  
have told, I don't know. Jane knows. Stacy knows. That's it."  
  
"That's *it*? Why the big secret?"  
  
"Well, *SANDI*, I can't just put an *ad* in the paper! 'Conjoined Person  
Rejoins Lawndale Community'. There would like, be riots, and stuff!'"  
  
"Gee, Quinn...you're right. You know, and Stacy knows. That leaves Tiffany.  
Why didn't you tell Tiffany?"  
  
"Uh...Tiffany's not the easiest person to talk to."  
  
"Well," smiled Sandi, "you have to know Tiffany. She's....slow on the uptake,  
but she pays attention to the things that matter. I want to see her. The  
Fashion Club has to meet again...if only to prevent my replacement as leader!  
Therefore, Tiffany needs to know."  
  
"So...", interjected Quinn, not knowing where to go next.  
  
"Call Tiffany on the phone. Just tell her to come over here. I shall handle  
all of the arrangements. You will do as I say. Believe me, explaining   
everything would not be a bonus. I know Tiffany."  
  
****************  
  
"Uh...Sandi's alright? Was she...you know...*molested*?"  
  
Tiffany hesitantly walked up the stairs to Quinn's room. "Sandi wanted to  
see you. A lot has happened. She's going to be living *here* from now on.  
And uh...she doesn't look the same as she did before...."  
  
"Reeeealllly?" Tiffany stopped walking. "She's notttt...like a monster,  
or something?"  
  
"You'll have to see for yourself," said Quinn, with trepidation. Tiffany  
walked up the stairs as if to her own execution.  
  
Tiffany entered the room. Sandi had one half of her face covered, the Daria  
half.  
  
"Tiffany. Come in!", said Sandi Morgendorffer.  
  
"Uh...Sandi?...like...why is half of your face covered up?"  
  
"Gee, Tiffany, I'm going to tell you all the answers! It's like, I'm not  
going to bite you! Just have a seat! Quinn...pull up a chair."  
  
Quinn placed an empty chair six feet directly in front of Sandi, who sat  
at the side of the bed. Tiffany uneasily sat down, her arms locked to her  
sides.  
  
"Now, Tiffany...you can still see that I'm Sandi...right?"  
  
"Yeaaahhh?"  
  
"I am going to tell you that half of my face has changed. It is not disfigured,  
but just looks like...the face of a different person. You remember Quinn's  
dorky cousin?"  
  
"Yeah...wait! She, like, disappeared the same time youuuuu did."  
  
"Exactly. Unfortunately, we're conjoined." With that, Sandi revealed the  
Daria side of her cranium.  
  
"Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!", shouted Tiffany. Tiffany literally knocked Quinn  
over in her rapid escape from the room.  
  
"Wait!", said Sandi, running after her. "Let me explain!!" Before Sandi  
Morgendorffer had even left Quinn's room, she could hear the front door  
slam and saw one of Tiffany's abandoned high heels at the bottom of the  
stairwell.  
  
Sandi turned to Quinn. "Well, I suspected that wasn't going to work," Sandi  
said in a dull monotone. "Excuse me." With that, she went to the bathroom  
and locked herself in for two hours.  
  
********************  
  
Sandi heard knocking on the bathroom door. "Go away!"  
  
"Sandi, it's Jane! Don't make me crawl under that door! I'm perfectly ready  
to break wind until I gas you out! I just ate some garlic bread and there's  
more where that came from!"  
  
The door opened. "Don't even *think* it, Lane!"  
  
"Glad to see you back to your new self. How's tricks. Quinn told me all   
about Tiffany's flight."  
  
"Right." Sandi sat down. "It's like...she was my very first friend in   
the world. I've known her since we were seven." Sandi sighed. "How  
could she betray me like that?"  
  
"Well...even *you* have to admit, Tiffany would be confused by the   
instructions on a light bulb. I don't think Tiffany would have ever handled   
that."  
  
"I know that," said Sandi.  
  
"But you did it anyway."  
  
"Right. It's like...when I was Daria, you were my closest friend in the world.  
But Sandi has close friends, too. And now, I've lost a friend."  
  
"There's Stacy."  
  
Sandi turned to Jane. "I never liked Stacy."  
  
"Daria did," said Jane, "bless the poor little nibblet."  
  
"That 'poor little nibblet' can get on your nerves. You should know that  
better than anyone else. Well, Jane, I've really lost everything. I've  
become a freak. I can't go to school. I have no *real* friends, and  
my own family has disowned me."  
  
"Da--*SANDI*!!!" It was Helen's voice from downstairs. "Quinn!! It's  
dinnertime!!"  
  
Jane smiled. "Even now, there's no escape from the Morgendorffer lasagna."  
  
Sandi was forced to crack a smile in response. "Yes. Yes, it lives  
forever in our hearts, and on our plates. I'll see you around, Lane."  
  
****************************************  
  
Helen made sure that everything was okay. She had asked Quinn about Sandi's  
favorite foods. Jake was in the middle of preparing his new Turkey Salad  
Surprise. Sandi enjoyed turkey. Helen hoped the surprise would  
be that it was edible.  
  
The one and one-half Morgendorffer girls made their way downstairs. Quinn,  
her usually bouncy self, made her way to her traditional seat. Sandi M.  
walked down slowly, as if entering unfamiliar territory.  
  
"Hey, Kiddo!", shouted Jake. "Great to see you here! I cooked you -- *EEP*!!"  
  
Jake had never visited the hospital. How could this happen to his little  
girl, to his sweet Daria, the girl whom he had bounced on his knee when  
she was so small? He looked at the face. Uneven. Daria had never been  
the happiest of girls, but Jake had borne it well, simply by pushing everything  
off to Helen. Emotional displays left him thoroughly shell-shocked -- the  
sum of years of military school and "Mad-Dog Morgendorffer".  
  
But Daria didn't have to say anything. That part of the combined face looked  
at him suspiciously. The Sandi part looked at him even more suspiciously,  
almost saying, *I dare you to love me *now*.*   
  
Jake tried not to wilt under the glare, but he started to sweat. "Heh heh...  
Turkey Salad Surprise coming up! So -- Sandi? How was your day?"  
  
"Oh, fine," said Sandi. "But...you know I hate turkey salad."  
  
"Oh, no!", said Jake. He had really done it! Fifteen seconds and already  
he had lost her! He screwed up! The pressure was getting to him!!  
  
"Uh, Dad," interjected Quinn, "that is, Sandi *hates* turkey salad unless you  
have cottage cheese nearby! *Right*, Sandi??"  
  
Quinn stared down Sandi at the other end of the table. It was the first time  
Quinn had raised the stakes in such a way. The confused Sandi Morgendorffer  
wilted under the onslaught. "I hope it's *quality* cottage cheese," she mumbled.  
  
Quinn looked to Helen for support. Helen smiled. Quinn was visibly elated.  
*Maybe this can, like, work out after all!*  
  
"Anywaaaaaay," added Helen, as Jake found his seat. "Sandi, I hope we can  
spend some quality time together!", added Helen to lighten the mood.   
  
As if on cue, the phone rang.  
  
"Eric! No, I'm sorry Eric, I'm afraid I can't -- the Tribune Case? Oh my  
*god*! He came in unprepared?!? -- "  
  
" -- and quality time at the Morgendorffers climbs in a humvee and drives off  
the nearest cliff," answered Sandi, quite Dariaesque.  
  
Jake began to ladle out scoops of salad-like substance. Quinn took hers,  
he left one for Helen, and then it was...Sandi's turn.  
  
Jake caught Sandi's eyes once again. The two mismatched eyes looked him over,  
like a shark examining a particularly choice morsel of human leg. *God, I  
never liked Linda Griffin*, Jake thought. Linda never missed a chance of  
putting him down in the rare times they had met in public. And, now, there  
she was, her daughter the spitting image of her, here at dinner, ready to  
cast a disapproving eye over everything. His tenuous control over himself  
was quite shaken.  
  
"Thanks...Dad?" Sandi couldn't help Jake looking at her with uneasy eyes.  
Both sides of her soul shrank under Jake's confused, sweaty glare. The  
Sandi side was particularly put off, feeling evermore the freak.  
  
"So, *Dad*," said Quinn, as Helen chattered over the phone, "like, tell us  
how *your* day was!"  
  
"Oh, just fine, pumpkin! My consulting firm just make a deal with a medical  
company...." The sentence trailed off. *Jake, old man, don't dig yourself  
into another hole!* He could hear Mad Dog screaming, somewhere, in the past.  
  
"...I'msurethat'sveryinteresting!", said Quinn, completing Jake's contribution.  
"So...uh...what's on TV tonight?"  
  
"Oh, nothing much," swallowed Jake. "I think...." He thought of sitting on  
the couch and having this mutated version of his daughter staring at him,  
accusing him of some unknown crime. He swallowed, hard, again.   
Why wasn't he there for her? Was it *his* fault that she was so hard and  
cynical? His dreams that she'd emerge, butterfly like, from the  
cocoon shattered into shards. At that time,  
a wave of *angina pectoris* struck him. His cold sweat was now obvious to  
everyone sitting at the table.  
  
"-- well, then you get Donald from vacation, and -- Jake?", said Helen,  
now hearing the silence. "Jake? What's wrong?"  
  
"Oh...nothing!", he said with a forced grin. "Ol' Jake just needs his  
nitroglycerin tablets! I can get them myself!"  
  
Chaos ensued. Jake had, of course, forgotten the doctor's instructions to  
carry them around in his pocket. Helen and Quinn tried to locate them,  
and almost ended up in a shouting match. Quinn was almost in tears.  
  
As for Sandi, she looked on. The outsider. Again. There was no point in  
crying. It would have served no point.  
  
***************************  
  
Jane was at work with her new masterpiece. As she finished up, Trent poked  
his head in.  
  
"What's cooking? Whoaaaaaa......"  
  
Jane muttered, "You like?"  
  
"Uh...hmmmmm," thought Trent, scratching his goatee. "I never thought there  
would be so much *blood*. It's not like you, Janey."  
  
Trent took a closer look at the painting. The painting was of someone who  
might have been either Daria *or* Jane, pinned down to an operating table  
and menaced by gigantic, floating, surgical instruments.  
  
"Trent, you already know what's happened to Daria."  
  
"Yeah...I thought I would see for myself...but I don't know if I could handle  
it, really." It was major understatement. Daria, if there was still a Daria,  
would see it as a mutilation of the worst sort. Trent didn't know Sandi  
Griffin, but he suspected she'd feel the same way. He knew that neither he  
nor the Daria within "Sandi" could handle a meeting.   
  
It was good that you stopped your fascination with Janey's friend, he told  
himself. Monique was good for something, after all.  
  
"I still don't know if *I* can handle it. Whoever I've been talking to...it's  
not Daria. Every now and then, I hear Daria's voice, and I can see Daria's  
face of course -- "  
  
" -- yeah?"  
  
" -- but", Jane sighed, "there's that Sandi part of her. And she *hates* me.  
I don't know if I can be friends with this person. She was more worried about  
Tiffany running out than about anything I feel."  
  
" -- jealous?" Trent sat on the bed.  
  
"Of Tiffany? Get *real*. But...there was that thing between me and Tom -- "  
  
" -- and you're worried that there's still a part of Daria that hates you.  
Janey, friends don't get along all the time. There are times when I've kicked  
Jesse's ass. There are times when he's kicked *my* ass. But we're still  
friends, man, 'cause blood runs true. If there's a part of Daria in there,  
that part is never gonna let you go, despite anything that happened in the  
past and despite any part of Sandi that tries to stop you."  
  
"Yeah...but...." Jane thought about losing Daria's friendship, that the new  
Sandi Morgendorffer might not feel the same way about Jane, that she might like  
Quinn more than her former best friend. The time she spent at art camp,  
stewing in her own bitterness, was terrible. To not be 'freakin friends'?  
Well, they got the 'freak' right. Now, Daria was more isolated than anyone  
could imagine.  
  
"Dammit, Trent, I'm not giving up without a fight. There might be a fashion  
princess in half of that body, but my friend is in the other half and I'm gonna  
get her back!"  
  
"That's the Janey I know."  
  
"I have a plan...Trent, I need you to be here Friday night."  
  
*Whoa.* "Uh, Janey...I don't know if I can see Daria like this...."  
  
"No. I can't either. But I know that somewhere inside, she wants to see you.  
She needs to know that her friends won't abandon her like Tiffany. I would  
put Daria's friends against Sandi's any day of the week." Jane spoke in an  
evil voice. "I'm going to turn her to the *daaaaark* side, mweheheeh!!!"  
  
"Yeah...but what about Tom?", asked Trent.  
  
"Oh, shit...I forgot," mumbled Jane. It was the first time she had ever said  
that about Tom Sloane...and it was most inopportune.  
  
************************  
  
[Gee, Daria, you've read that book long enough, and like, the eyestrain is  
*not* going to ruin what's left of *my* half of our face!]  
  
Funny, I thought you would like, "The Snake Pit". I had you in mind when  
I picked it out.  
  
[*Geek.*]  
  
Circus geek? Bitch all you want, Sandi. As long as we're at home, there's  
nothing you can do. I know you don't want to go back to your house. Kind  
of hard to keep secrets from me anymore.  
  
[I don't see how *we're* going to have a life when *you* keep screwing it up.]  
  
Who said we were going to have a life? I'm just going to lock myself in an  
attic until our hair turns gray. Both sides remembered the dinner fiasco.  
  
[Well...that wouldn't be following the terms of our *agreement*, would it?  
Or do you want to go back to the hospital?]  
  
On second thought, I'll let your hair turn gray. What kind of literature can  
I pick to torment you? There's always "The Tell-Tale Heart" --   
  
[How are your parents going to think us as *one* person if you keep reading the  
same old geeky stuff? I'm not you. I'll never let you forget that, as long as  
there's a chance that *I* can come back!]  
  
Rot in hell, Griffin. I know that you like Mom a lot. You like her better than  
your Mom.  
  
[You *wish*!]  
  
You can't keep secrets from me. I know all your secrets.  
  
[And I know all of yours. I know that you're mad at your father for flipping   
out. And you're jealous because *my* father has called the house every  
*day*!]  
  
You never respected your father anyway. Not since you caught your mother  
cheating on him when you were eight and you told him, and he said never to  
mention it again. I can't be fooled by that loving child routine.  
  
[And I like your mom better than *you* like her. She's in a position of power,  
and she, like, cares about you. But *you're* angry down inside because she  
never spent time with you, and you still resent the treatment Quinn got.  
You wanted Quinn out of the way -- ]  
  
-- shut *up*.  
  
[ -- there were times you hoped she was *dead* -- ]  
  
I still have this right arm which I could stick up your ass, you know.  
  
[Try it. I know all about how you hate yourself so much at times. I can  
remind you of it. And you can't deny it, 'cause it's true.]  
  
And I know all about your insecurity and more than enough about your *mother*.  
Why don't we --   
  
[ -- hold on! Someone's coming!!]  
  
*******************  
  
Quinn stepped into the room. "Hi, Sandi!"  
  
"Hi, Quinn. What's new?"  
  
"Nothing. It's just that...well...Tom's been worrying about you." Quinn  
didn't know if she should bring up Tom, just yet. She hoped and prayed that  
Tom would be the cure for Sandi's many ills.  
  
[Tom? Who's Tom?]  
  
Get *LOST*!  
  
"And...I brought him the files that Mom had from Doctor Samuels. He knows  
everything now. He's very worried about you, Daria, and he misses you."  
  
[It's Tom Sloane! Oh, God, I can't believe it! You're hooked up with Tom  
Sloane!]  
  
Didn't you just notice Quinn call me *Daria*?  
  
[Do you know how much money Tom Sloane *has*? And, *God*, like, he's so good  
looking and his *parents*? My God, Daria, *we* have to get ready!!]  
  
I don't want to see Tom.  
  
[Don't lie to me. *Now* I can see it! You're dying to see Tom!]  
  
No.  
  
[You *want* him! You...hah! You've never even let him get to second base with  
you? Now I can read you like an open book! Daria, I'm surprised he's still   
hanging around!]  
  
Maybe I have personality. Maybe you don't have what he likes.  
  
"Sandi, have you even *listened* to a word I've said?", asked Quinn.  
  
"Of course...I'd *love* to see Tom again. You don't know how much I've been  
thinking about him. Tell him...I miss him."  
  
I would *never* say that to Quinn!  
  
[But I would! I've got Tom Sloane as a boyfriend! This is just the  
*beginning*!! Like it or not, Daria, you're in love with him. And I....]  
  
You only love *yourself*!  
  
[...I...*could* love him....]  
  
Bullshit.  
  
[...I...WILL love him. And you wait, Daria Morgendorffer! As long as you  
like him so much, you won't be able to stop me! I *want* Tom Sloane, and since  
you do, too, you can't stop me no matter how much you try. It's time for  
Tom Sloane to, like, go out with a *real* woman now!]  
  
...oh, *no*!  
  
[Oh, *yesss*. Trust me, Daria. You'll enjoy the results!]  
  
Sandi...*don't* do this. *Please*.  
  
[Forget it. I was wondering who it was you had been fantasizing about.  
I just didn't have a name or face. Well, I know all your pornographic little  
fantasies now. I know how he kisses you. I know how he feels your body.   
You don't know how men are supposed to be treated. Whereas, I do.]  
  
"Sandi, are you there *at all*?!?!"  
  
Sandi snapped to attention. "Oh, yes. I was just...lost in thought. I'm worried,  
Quinn...I'm worried that Tom might not like me anymore."  
  
"Hmph," said Quinn, "I can't imagine *that* happening!"  
  
"We need to buy something, Quinn. Something nice."   
  
Quinn looked puzzled. "I don't think you should be seen in public."  
  
"Then let me *tell* you what to buy. I want you to go to Cashman's. Here's  
what you'll need."  
  
**********************************  
  
Tom pulled up to the Morgendorffer's in his old jalopy. Funny, he had almost  
been able to disconnect. When Daria went missing, he was furious, anxious,  
angry, frightened. It was the *not* knowing that was the killer.  
  
After two weeks, there was still no word about Daria Morgendorffer. His parents  
tried to comfort him -- even Elsie -- but they suspected that Daria was dead.  
And deep in his heart, he did, too. He could never imagine anyone trying  
to molest Daria without her putting up some kind of fight, even if the price  
of the fight was death. It was a wound that slowly and unpredictably healed.  
Every time he thought, those old aches and pains would act up again.  
  
When Quinn finally called to tell him the news, he thought she was on drugs.  
"Quinn, are you on drugs?", he asked. She promised to prove everything to him.  
All he had to do was come over. Sandi Morgendorffer (God, what a name!) wanted  
to see him, she missed him and wondered why he hadn't come by sooner. He didn't  
know why Quinn wanted to hurt him this way -- did she have designs on him? --  
but he would put a stop to it once and for all.  
  
He rang the bell. Helen answered the door. Mrs. Morgendorffer seemed surprised  
to see him, and as for Mr. Morgendorffer...he looked frightened, almost as if  
Tom's arrival foretold some impending doom. Helen shushed Jake down and took  
Tom to the couch for a heart-to-heart talk.  
  
Tom almost lost his mind when they told him the same story that Quinn did.  
That Daria had somehow become one-half of some composite. He had no idea  
who "Sandi Griffin" was, but Helen made it plain that she was someone different  
from Daria, almost diametrically opposite.   
  
"Uh...forgive my skepticism. Are you sure there are no glitterberries  
in the house?", he asked, boldly.  
  
"Well, Tom," sighed Helen, "It was Sandi who wanted to see you. You might as  
well go up and see for yourself."  
  
*******************  
  
"There is, like, so *little* that goes with brown. Perhaps Daria could have  
contributed a different hair color. It's, like, bad enough that she has this  
thick hair. My head looks lopsided."  
  
Sandi turned from the mirror. From the neck down, she looked fantastic. Sandi  
decided that turquoise would be the color that turned Tom's head. She chose  
a turquoise cotton blouse with a deep neckline that hung from shoulder straps.  
Over it, she wore a tight-fitting turquoise cartigan to provide accent.   
Tight black slacks and thong slippers completed the wardrobe. Expert makeup  
hid the pink surgical dividing line. The eyebrow from Daria's half was plucked  
down to Sandi-type dimensions, while the hair from Sandi's side was given more  
body with liberal amounts of hair spray. All in all, it was a good job, the  
makeup equalizing the slightly uneven skin tones. Now that Daria had let   
Sandi do what she wanted (but she was always watching, never relinquishing her  
possessive hold), Sandi could finally escape Daria's fashion *don'ts* and   
become someone a bit more worthy of the spotlight. Find a hairdresser and  
a good plastic surgeon and she had the chance of reclaiming her former beauty  
as Sandi Griffin.  
  
Tom stepped in to the room. "Whoa!"  
  
It was Tom, Sandi thought. [He needs to ditch the sweater. And the cargo  
pants are like, so, Old Navy.] "Hello, Tom." She maintained a close-lipped  
smile, the teeth being too unalike. Changing the bulbs to sixty-watt would  
help, Sandi reminded herself.  
  
"Tom...it's me. I'm back again."  
  
"Daria?"  
  
"No. It's Sandi. Sandi Morgendorffer. When you have to, like, mix fashions  
you sometimes take what compromises you can get."  
  
Tom sat down. "Funny. You were never fashion conscious before."  
  
Sandi looked for a line. "It was either that or try to go out and kill  
Batman." That line, Sandi Griffin thought, came from Daria's half of the   
brain. She would have almost thanked her.  
  
"Aha. Then you are alive!"  
  
"Tom." Sandi smiled. It was Daria's smirk, but with an unwittingly malevolent  
aspect. Tom wondered if the weirdness of it was getting to him. He took  
Daria by the left hand, then stopped to think.  
  
"This isn't your hand."  
  
"It is now. Finders keepers." Daria Morgendorffer wished those lines weren't  
coming out of her mouth. She shouldn't be helping Sandi. But, God, she wanted  
Tom to be here, so much....  
  
"So how long have you been chained up in the Dungeon?"  
  
"Too long. I also find myself craving kiwi lipstick and accessories at the  
weirdest times. Aftereffects."  
  
For a long time, they talked about everything. The hospital, the return to  
the Morgendorffer home, and her relations with Jane. Several things were left  
out. Jake's avoidance of her. The Tiffany episode, which Tom would never  
understand and Sandi thought it wise to censor, and above all, the time  
in Upchuck's laboratory, which she had successfully repressed so far but was not  
willing to take any chances.  
  
Tom felt her holding back. "I suppose that a swing by the pizzeria is out of the  
question."  
  
"It depends if we can invite *him*." Sandi indicated the window.  
  
Tom looked outside, seeing nothing but grass. "If you look to your left,"  
Sandi indicated, "you can see your federal tax dollars at work."  
  
Squinting, Tom asked, "is there someone in that tree?"  
  
"I can neither confirm or deny that."  
  
"FBI?"  
  
"You've got it. The FBI's been kind. I've been seeing Doctor Samuels to help  
me put myself together, so to speak. By all accounts of medical science,  
I shouldn't even be alive much less in this shape. It's a pity that you come  
from a wealthy family."  
  
"Damn," said Tom, "there goes my 'Sick Sad World' money."  
  
"I was thinking more of a medical grant. The Sandi Morgendorffer Foundation.  
See the unbelievable girl, split in half, then put back together. The modern  
miracle of medical science."  
  
"Actually, it could have some advantages. I've always wanted to go out with  
two women at the same time."  
  
Daria wanted to say "that's not funny", but the answer that came out of   
Sandi's lips was quite different.  
  
"*Kinky*. But will it be a strain on your wallet?"  
  
"There's always the emergency credit card. My Dad still thinks you can live  
on $5 a week."  
  
"Is it possible to swing by 'Chez Pierre'?" *Time to claim possession*, thought  
Sandi.  
  
"'Chez Pierre'? That's not exactly the pizzeria. And what about your armed  
civil servant out there?"  
  
"Nothing explicit was said about me, uh, *staying* here. If we get stopped...  
well, I'm sure we can think of some other entertainment."  
  
****************************  
  
The trip to Chez Pierre was wonderful. No one guessed it was her! Or Daria,  
for that matter! She had become the Elegant Mystery Woman who had stolen  
Tom Sloane. Chez Pierre was but the stepping stone, the least moldy crust  
of bread floating in the rotten Lawndale soup. The Country Club would be  
the real test.  
  
Sandi had already made her plans. First, Tom required some fixing up.  
He remained without goals, and that was a no-no. The money would be nice,  
but he could be a successful businessman, lawyer, or politician. His star  
would be suitably bright. He was so much smarter than the three J's. *God*,  
and he was witty, too. He talked about stuff that she'd never heard of but  
he was sure that it meant something. Sandi remembered what her mother said --  
"when in doubt, smile and bat your eyes". She never set her goals *too* low.  
And marrying into money was not as good as doing the same and making sure the  
world knew it.  
  
After Tom became hers, the next step was plastic surgery. Sandi could hear  
Daria's snotty remarks, and tried to ignore them because even *she* knew  
a face like this was a handicap. Of course, the bitch would want a Daria  
face. It was a concession Sandi was willing to make as long as she was in  
charge of makeup and coiture. Helen would help her with the money she needed,  
and there was always Dad, Tom Griffin, that is. With Daria's brain power and  
her savvy, there was literally no limit -- *NO LIMIT* to what she could  
achieve.  
  
There would be a new pecking order in Lawndale...or perhaps Austin, or  
Hartford. Tom and Sandi Sloane. It sounded wonderful. Sandi kept her thoughts  
to herself. Tom was thinking about her, probably. Smile. Bat eyes.  
  
The car pulled up to the Morgendorffers. "I think we lost our tail. For a   
few moments." Tom looked into Sandi's eyes. "I -- I thought I'd lost you   
for good." He almost choked up. Then, suddenly, he embraced her.  
  
Sandi didn't know what to make of this. It left her distinctly uncomfortable.  
Daria, on the other hand, was thrilled.  
  
[Charmed, I'm sure, but uh...what is this?]  
  
Have you ever had *anyone* care for you, Sandi? Do I have to explain it to  
you? Or should we start with smaller projects, like the alphabet?  
  
*Gratitude*! That was it! Boy, Tom was really in love with her. [All right,  
girl,] Sandi told herself, [it's time to make sure he doesn't get away.]  
  
Huh?  
  
[Shut up. I think you'll like this. I think we both will.]  
  
Sandi moved forward, slightly, to kiss Tom. Tom responded, quite quickly,  
then stopped.  
  
"You like?"  
  
"Sure, I like," said Tom, "it's almost like kissing a different person."  
  
What was wrong with the old one?  
  
[Shut -- *up*.]  
  
They returned to their makeout session. Sandi took her time with Tom.  
Anything he wanted, he could have. Of course, he needed to be enticed to take  
the bait. Calmly, deliberately, she ran one hand under his sweater, pulling  
the tails of his shirt from his waistline.  
  
"Whoa...*Daria*?"  
  
"*Shhhhh.*" They continued to kiss. Sandi gave it extra emphasis, to make sure  
that Mister Sloane forgot that unfortunate first name.   
  
For Tom, it was a turnon. Daria had never been so bold before. Tom   
decided that it would be okay to make his next  
move. He reached over to her cardigan, and taking it by the front, pulled it  
over her shoulders.  
  
Tom noticed Sandi's bare arms. There, he noticed the difference for the first  
time. For some strange reason, the skin looked different. It was whiter on the  
left side, the non-Daria side. It made him realize that perhaps, this new  
person was not all Daria. Quinn said that 'they were one person', but Tom  
assumed that that new person's personality had more Daria than Sandi. Now,  
he wasn't so sure.  
  
Sandi expertly reached down to the crotch of Tom's pants. She deftly undid  
the button to the fly.  
  
"Hmmpf?", asked Tom. Her right hand reached quickly through the fly in his  
boxers.  
  
"Aaaah!!" Tom almost lept out of the car seat.  
  
"What's wrong?"  
  
This was very unexpected. "When did you get so *bold*...Sandi?"  
  
"Uh, Tom...don't you like me, anymore?" That definitely sounded like Daria.  
  
"No, it's just...you've never been so...*forward* before!"  
  
"I can even be more forward than *that*. If that's what you like." Sandi  
smiled that closed mouth smile again. And once again, Tom saw that there  
was a harder edge to the smile, cold, and calculating.  
  
Tom grabbed his pants and rebuttoned them. "You...are *not* Daria. I don't  
know *what* you are!"  
  
Sandi, you've ruined it! Let me back in!!  
  
*Dah-ria*, I, like *know* how to handle this! "I am...more than Daria was.  
I'm *better* than Daria! I can do so much *more* for you!"  
  
"Now, I know it. You are *not* Daria. I should have suspected it. You're  
more Sandi Griffin than Daria! Bring Daria back, if she's still in there!"  
  
"Why? So -- aCkkK!!" Sandi's head grimaced, her neck twisting unnaturally  
like some sort of monsters. As the right side of her face twitched unnaturally,  
Sandi said, in a distorted voice, "I can give you *everything* that she never  
could! Tell me what your fantasy is! I'll do it for you! Not that little  
geeky milquetoast!"  
  
"Get out of this car!", shivered Tom. "I don't know what you are!"  
  
Daria immediately gained control of the body, forcing Sandi aside for a second.  
She grabbed Tom by his sweater, forcing her face into his. "Tom! You can't  
leave me here with her! You don't know what it's like, every-living-moment  
of the *day*! Help! HELLLLLLPPPPP!!!!"  
  
"Yeeaaaaaahhhhh!!!" Tom screamed. He unbuckled the seat of his car, and  
ran -- *ran* -- down the streets of Lawndale, leaving his jalopy behind.  
As it started to rain, a lone figure stood out in the middle of the road.  
  
"Tooooommmmmmmm!!!!!!!!!!!" It was an anguish great enough for two souls.  
Tom didn't look back. He undoubtedly would never be back again.  
  
At first, there was conflict. An assessment of blame. Then, a great grief.  
The honeymoon period was over, which was to be followed by a sudden realization.  
  
"We have to *die*," mumbled Sandi.  
  
*************************  
  
Sandi trudged back towards the house. As the door opened, Jake Morgendorffer  
almost fell over. He had obviously been leaning against the door.  
  
"You know, good microphones can be bought, cheap," said Sandi.  
  
"Daria! I mean -- SANDI!! I mean -- !!", said Jake, shouting in panic.  
  
"Daaaaaddddd...." Please God, don't have a heart attack!  
  
"No -- don't worry about me." Jake forced himself into a smile. "My heart,  
D-- Sandi...you know...I'll never get used to that name! My heart's not  
good, but...but DAMMIT! Nothing's going to keep me away from my daughter!  
I know...it's a bit weird, but...oh, GOD DAMMIT!! I'm no good at this!  
I mean...if I -- "  
  
" -- what you mean to say is, 'Sandi, even though your disfigurement and  
your new personality is a bit creepy, I still love you. And you have to  
stop worrying about me, and start worrying about yourself. It will take me  
a while to get used to you, but it's an out of the ordinary experience and  
you have my support and comfort.'"  
  
Jake thought about it. "Why...YEAH! That's what I meant to say! Now....",  
he said suspiciously, "Did Tom insult you? Did he make you cry? Where *is*   
he? I'll break every BONE in his BODY!!"  
  
Sandi said, "I think Tom took a raincheck on this date. I don't think we're  
very compatible anymore."  
  
"The NERVE -- you're as -- !!"  
  
"Never mind, 'Dad'. You need to go upstairs and rest. Consider Tom soundly  
thrashed, for your peace of mind."  
  
" -- sure thing, Sandi!"  
  
"Do you have your bottle of tablets?"  
  
"Right here in the old shirt pocket! Why tomorrow, you, me, Helen and Quinn  
ought to go for a drive in the country! Just like old times!"  
  
"Uh...yeah. Well, it's been a long day. Go to bed, Dad. I'll finish up in  
here."  
  
Sandi watched Jake trudge up the stairs. He seemed as well adjusted as Jake  
Morgendorffer could be. Tenuous at best, if so, but it was a start.  
  
[Gee, Daria. I didn't think your Dad had so much...backbone.]  
  
It is kind of funny.  
  
Silence.  
  
Although...you know it really doesn't change anything.  
  
[I suppose it doesn't.] Sandi agreed. Jake Morgendorffer was a nice man.  
They were all nice. But there was no more Fashion Club and no more Tom  
Sloane. She concurred with Daria. It didn't change a thing. They still  
had to die, for their sake, and everyone else's.  
  
**************************  
  
It was a good thing that Daria knew all the methods. Sandi, or course, vetoed  
anything that wouldn't leave a good-looking corpse until Daria remarked that  
they'd be buried in an unmarked grave, most likely. Or left in a ditch  
like their twelfth-century ancestors.  
  
[Fine. Whatever you want. I'm too tired to fight. Jean-Paul Sartre was  
*right*.]  
  
Daria thought she always wanted to go out like those Heaven's Gate people.  
Unfortunately, she had no sleeping pills. Instead, she would wait until she  
was tired and Quinn was asleep. After Quinn fell asleep, they would sneak  
off to the bathroom in their one body. With the lights out, she would take  
the electrical cord she had formed into a noose and secure one end to the  
waist-high bathroom door knob. The next step would be to place a plastic bag  
over her head. The noose would go around the bag, and she'd fall to sleep   
propped up against the door. The carbon monoxide and the constant but not  
unbearable pressure from the snug noose around her neck would put Daria and  
Sandi to sleep, never to wake up again. Theoretically, painless.  
  
As she looked for a plastic bag, the phone rang. *Damn.* Can't even get  
a proper suicide planned.  
  
"Morgendorffer residence."  
  
Jane was at the other end of the phone. "Hey, Sandi. What's up?"  
  
"Nothing." Only the end of my cursed, miserable existence.  
  
"So...have any plans?"  
  
"You could say that."  
  
"But certainly, nothing more important than a visit. Stop by for a few minutes.  
I want you to see something."  
  
"Can this wait until *tomorrow*?"  
  
"I prefer that you see it now. I won't keep you long." *Just long enough,*  
thought Jane.  
  
**************************  
  
Sandi trudged over to the Lane residence. [This is the worst night of my  
life, and thank *God* it's the last one! She probably wants to show me one  
of her ugly paintings.]  
  
Right. I told her to paint something abstract, like your soul. That's ugly  
enough.  
  
Sandi only grumbled as the door opened.   
  
Jane smiled. "Hello! Well, *you* look decked out. Big to-do?"  
  
"Yep. Quinn took me to Chez Pierre. First time I've been out of the house.  
So, what's this thing that can't wait until tomorrow."  
  
"Come down to the studio. You're going to love it!" Or, at least Jane would.  
  
********************  
  
The studio apparently was the temporary home of a pile of misassembled lumber  
and rope. [Every one of these 'sculptures' I see reminds me why we can never  
live together.] "So," Sandi said, uninterested, "what's it called?"  
  
"It's more of a performance art piece. Here. You sit at the *throne*," Jane  
said, indicating a chair near the scultupe. It was a straightbacked wooden  
chair, quite unpleasant looking.  
  
Sandi sat down, resting back against the chair to maintain a fashion conscious  
posture. "I hope this doesn't take too long."  
  
"It won't." Jane calmly walked behind the chair, and, quickly, took Sandi  
by the right hand. Before Sandi knew it, Jane quietly took Sandi's left  
wrist and snapped the handcuffs in place.  
  
"What in -- ?", said a surprised Sandi Morgendorffer before Jane placed a red  
ball-gag in Sandi's mouth. Sandi struggled as Jane buckled the gag in place.  
The memory of Upchuck caused a painful flashback that shocked both Sandi and  
Daria almost to blabbering insecurity.  
  
"Sorry about that!," smiled Jane, "but I think Trent took my duct tape and  
all I had was the gag I bought from the Quentin Tarantino Web Site!" Jane  
didn't stop there. Using the rope, she tied Sandi's ankles to the chair.  
Sandi was now almost completely immobile, but letting Jane know her extreme  
displeasure and fear.  
  
"Uncomfortable?" Sandi nodded rapidly.  
  
"*Good*. I suspect that there are really two of you in there. I don't really  
believe that you're one person. At least, not where it counts. I know my  
old friend is still in there, and I have one last chance on getting her out.  
Desperate times call for desperate measures. Let the Fashion Club  
deprogramming begin!!"  
  
Jane wheeled a small television set into the room. "I have all ten tapes of  
'Sick Sad World : The Sickest and Saddest!' All for combined viewing, my  
dearie! If *that* doesn't get rid of any Sandi tendencies, you're too far gone!"  
  
With that, Jane went to the closet, bringing back a bowl of cooked popcorn and  
a TV remote. "It's *show-tiiiimme*."   
  
{{ When a hip chiropractor's office burns down, it's Slipped Disco  
Inferno! Next! On Sick Sad World! }}  
  
Sandi screamed behind the gag. But somewhere, even though she was as mad  
as hell, Daria Morgendorffer couldn't help but smile.  
  
******************************  
  
{{ "And then, I was visited by Satan. He came to me in a vision."  
"What did he look like, ma'am?"  
"I think he was one of that family of actors? You know...was it  
Charlie Sheen...or Emilio Estevez?" }}  
  
Jane smiled. "I think she's credible. If it were Martin Sheen  
or Rain Phoenix, I'd be suspicious." Sandi had long stopped groaning, her  
wet eyes open, her head lulled over to the left side.  
  
"I've not done softening you up." Jane turned down the volume on the TV,  
and yelled, "Trent! You can come in now!!"  
  
Sandi woke up, suddenly. She looked around the room, mumbling something  
indecipherable.  
  
"Hello, Janey. I -- *whooooaaa*!"  
  
"Hi, Trent. What's new?"  
  
"Janey -- this is weird on a level beyond complete weirdness." Seeing  
Daria in a ball gag was not going to be a sight he'd easily forget.  
He decided it was time to bail out of Jane's plans, whatever they were.  
  
"Yeah...I think I have a captive audience. Care to say a few words to  
Daria? I'm trying to deprogram her."  
  
Trent squatted down, resting on the soles of his feet. "Uh...Daria...is that  
you?"  
  
Sandi nodded her head, trying to say something comprehensible, and failing.  
  
"Hey...I'm, like, sorry I didn't come over before. I didn't think it would  
be cool, me barging in on a private moment with your folks. I'm really glad  
you're alive, Daria. For a few moments, I thought the world had gone to hell.  
I couldn't imagine a world that would let something this bad happen to someone  
as cool as you." That was true. He had spent as much of those three weeks   
asleep as he could. Mystik Spiral had missed two gigs and Jesse was pissed off.  
  
Sandi nodded.  
  
"Anyway, I just want you to know I didn't have any part of this -- "  
  
" -- Trent! -- "  
  
"Sorry, Janey. But the only reason Janey did it is because she cares for  
you. Hey...I care for you, but I don't say it. I don't think it would be  
appropriate...me being an older man and all. But I would still like to think  
of you as my friend. I don't wanna get all mushy. But if you're friends --   
well, sometimes mushy comes with the territory.   
  
"I don't know if you're in there, Daria. If you are, then we want you back,  
even part time. And if you're not, you'll always be cool in our hearts.  
We love you." *He* loved her. There. He said it, to himself. Damn.  
  
Sandi turned her head towards Jane. Indicating the gag, she mumbled a few  
words.  
  
"All right, Janey. It's been like four hours. I think you should let her go."  
  
"Yeah," sighed Jane, "I've almost run out of videotape anyhow."  
  
The gag was removed.  
  
"Lane," muttered Sandi, "don't *ever* do that again, or I will release your  
name to demonic telemarketers."  
  
"Daria?", said Jane, hopefully.  
  
"Yeah. *Daria*. The handcuffs?" Jane and Trent worked rapidly on loosening  
the cuffs.  
  
"I'll make this a quick explanation. I'm locked in this body with Sandi  
Griffin."  
  
"Then where's she?", said Trent.  
  
"Suffering from Sick Sad World shock. It's not going to last, though. We're  
too evenly matched. She's pigheaded and ignorant, and logical means can't reach  
her. I hate living like this. No, on second thought," said Daria, "I hate  
living *period*."  
  
"I'm calling Doctor Samuels!", said Jane. "Trent, get Quinn!"  
  
"There's no time," said Daria, panting, as if racing against time. "If they  
send me back to the hospital, I'll *never* leave. And if I do, it's because  
I've fooled the doctors. We can't live like this. We're a monster."  
  
"You're not a monster, Daria," said Trent. "I don't care what you call yourself.  
I just can't believe that you and Sandi can't get along. You both like Quinn."  
  
"That's not enough. And 'like' is probably not a word either of us would use."  
  
"Okay. But there has to be something you can do together."  
  
"Right. But after we leave the bathroom, what about the other 23 hours   
and fifty-five minutes?"  
  
"C'mon, Daria."  
  
"I...uh oh. She's awake."  
  
"Then listen. There has to be something you can live for. After all, if  
Kurt Cobain could marry Courtney Love, anyone can get along."  
  
"Kurt Cobain killed himself."  
  
"Whoa. Bad example. You know what I mean."  
  
"All right, genius," said Sandi, sarcastically, "like, *what* can we do, besides  
sue you for every cent you own?"  
  
"Well...whenever I had a problem, I always sang about it," answered Trent.  
  
"God!", sniffed Sandi.  
  
"Think about it," said Trent, "did John Lennon always get along with Paul  
McCartney? Did Ozzy always get along with Black Sabbath? Nah. But when  
they did, they made beautiful music together. They *rocked*. You two should  
find your own vibe. You could rock."  
  
"You can't mix the Backstreet Boys and Soundgarden," said Sandi.  
  
"Maybe you can. They mixed Britney Spears and Eminem, with that weird song with  
Britney's music to Eminem's lyrics. It sounded cool. You have melody, and you  
have harmony. They complement each other, but they're not alike. And without  
both...you don't have music. One supplies the lyrics. The other supplies the  
middle eight. C'mon...I have a guitar. You have nothing else to do."  
  
"Could I do this at home?", said Sandi.  
  
"Not unless you want me and Jane to tie you to the chair again."  
  
"Looks like I have no choice. As long I don't have to listen to anything by  
'Mystic Spiral'."  
  
*********************  
  
Trent certainly tried, until he found out that Sandi couldn't sing.  
  
He had heard Daria sing. And Sandi said that she could sing -- but when Sandi  
Morgendorffer's mouth opened, all Trent heard was a screech. No words, just  
a toneless sound a deaf-mute would make. *They can't even combine for one  
note, not even a middle C*, he thought.  
  
Trent and Jane discussed their options. They would remain awake all night,  
in shifts. Sandi would stay in the living room. Trent and Jane would not take  
their eyes off her. Quinn would be allowed to sleep the night, and then,  
she would be told the next morning and she could keep a watch on Sandi while  
the Lanes slept and the three of them figured out what to do next.  
  
Sandi, meanwhile, flipped through Trent's album collection. David Bowie?  
No. Pearl Jam? *No*. Rancid? *Definitely no.*  
  
Amanda Lane's records of the Carpenters and Joan Baez also got a thumbs down,  
from Daria.   
  
[Only *losers* would listen to a record collection like this.]  
  
Just shut up while we plan our escape, or it's back to the Cuckoo's Nest  
for both of us.  
  
[*Hmmmf*. Who are 'The Rutles'?]  
  
Comedy band. Sound like the Beatles. I don't remember them very well.  
  
[I can hear what you remember. Sounds safe enough. I'm willing to try.]  
  
Eric Idle and friends met the needle. Sandi (and Daria) listened through the  
scratches. Daria enjoyed the irony of someone mocking the Beatles sound,  
while Sandi thought the songs were serious, although a bit stupid.  
She didn't disapprove, at least.  
  
The guitar chords to the song, "Let's Be Natural" started. It was a take off  
of the late sixties sound associated with Abbey Road.  
  
"Time goes by as we all know, naturally  
People come and people go, naturally  
  
Let's be natural -- ever since the world began  
Let's be natural -- every woman, every man  
Let's be natural -- and follow nature's plan  
Let's be natural  
Oh, yeah...."  
  
The two listened, attentively. It was a sweet song. The silliness made no  
demands on either of them. For once, they could forget their trouble.  
  
"Stars are in the sky above, naturally  
People rise and fall in love, naturally."  
  
The two hummed along.  
  
"Let's be natural -- ever since the world began  
Let's be natural -- every woman, every man  
Let's be natural -- let's follow nature's plan  
Let's be natural.  
  
Everything is everything, naturally.  
People cry, laugh and sing, naturally"  
  
The two sung together.  
  
["Let's be natural -- ever since the world began  
Let's be natural -- every woman, every man  
Let's be natural -- let's follow nature's plan  
Let's be natural."]  
  
The song came to a quiet end. Then, suddenly, like a Beatles song, came  
suddenly loudly to life. The phrase  
  
"we could be sooooo na-tu-ral"  
  
was repeated over and over again with an "ahhh- ahhhHHHHHH" harmony in the  
background. Sandi began singing the melody. Daria provided the harmony.  
Even though Sandi Morgendorffer opened her mouth and made no sound,  
the two voices inside her head sang in complete harmony.  
  
There was silence. Blessed silence. A falling into each others arms.  
Hatred, for a few seconds, had turned to admiration, to love, to forgiveness.  
  
And then, there was a scream.  
  
*******************************  
  
Jane and Trent ran to the living room. The record skipped over and over,  
making a loud, rhythmic, atonal noise. Sandi was passed out on the floor.  
  
"Daria! Daria!", screamed Jane. "Wake up!!"  
  
"I'll call 911," said Trent.  
  
"...Jane?...", mumbled Sandi.  
  
"Daria! Thank God!" Jane almost lept for joy.  
  
Sandi lay back down. "Daria...Daria...Daria's *dead.*"  
  
Jane moaned. She had nothing to say. Trent dropped the phone. The receiver  
swung helplessly on the coiled wire, back and forth. His mouth formed the  
word, "no", but nothing came out.  
  
"...and Sandi...Sandi...poor Sandi Griffin...Sandi's...*dead*, too."  
  
"What do you mean?", said Jane.  
  
"I'm....*one person* now. I'm not Daria Morgendorffer anymore. And I'm not  
Sandi Griffin, either. I'm...both! But I'm not either one!"  
  
"So...what does that mean?"  
  
"It means, Jane, that even though I have a certain fondness for you, I'm  
*never* watching an episode of Sick Sad World ever again."  
  
Jane let the tears flow. "I think I can live with that."  
  
"Oh, and personally, I think you looked quite nice in your alien stage. As  
you can see, now I'm totally insane. This is all your fault, Lane!"  
  
"Sorry. I don't do this every day, you know!"  
  
"And Trent...thanks for your help," said Sandi, "if the other Sandi were here,  
I think she might thank you...although, she'd *never* say it."  
  
"*Cool*," said Trent. "So...uh...what does it feel like?"  
  
"Like my head is full of contradictions. It's very scary. I'm afraid that no  
one is ever going to like me again. I can't be Daria for you guys ever again.  
But I *won't* be Sandi Griffin. You have to take the good with the bad.  
And, part of me likes being Sandi Griffin."  
  
"I always knew you were an absolute *bitch*....*Sandi*!", said Jane, happily.  
  
"And don't you *ever* forget it, Jane Lane!"  
  
"I'll hold you to your word."  
  
"Trent...I think you're going to have to wake up Quinn." Hmm, thought  
Sandi. You know, I've developed this sudden fondness for Trent Lane.  
I wonder what I can make of it, and him? Better not push things.  
Just hope. Hope, girl, *hope*!  
  
"How come?", asked Trent, with a smile. *She's really hot,* he thought.  
  
"I could use some pizza. It doesn't close until 1 AM. And conquering the  
world is not something I want to do on an empty stomach." As the clock  
struck midnight, Sandi Morgendorffer planned the celebration of the  
first day of her new life. *Wonder if there's a liquor store open?*, she  
wondered.  
  



End file.
